All in the Faculty
by Monster Mads
Summary: Workaholic Alex Rider is given one month's vacation time against his will. Seeing that he doesn't actually have a life outside, well, spying, he's not entirely sure what to do with himself. So he pays Professor Harris a visit as his new, ahem, "assistant teacher". Alex/Tom!Friendship.
1. Paid Vacation

**All in the Faculty**

Chapter 1: Paid Vacation

"I don't want time off."

Mrs. Jones sighed. Alex had certainly come a long way from the days when they had to trick and manipulate him into helping them.

"Alex, you don't have a choice. None of our operatives work _nearly_ as much as you do."

"That's because they're not as quick on their feet as me!"

In truth, this was because most of them died at the height of their careers before having the chance to. Alex Rider, now a man of twenty-three, was easily their most effective spy, if only because he'd practically been brought up since birth to become one. Add his above-average IQ and the fact that he'd been gifted with the devil's luck, and you had MI6's current record-holder for amount of successful missions – and on that note, fewest casualties. Alex paid a lot more attention to collateral damage than most others. Mrs. Jones imagined many of her employees were a little more concerned with keeping _themselves_ alive during missions, whereas Alex worked in such a laughably efficient way that he once reported having stopped at a McDonald's drive-thru during a high-speed car chase that had apparently not been high-speed enough for him (he'd been driving a stolen mini-van, too. A series of strategically executed turns and he'd lost them in under five minutes).

She'd shaken her head at that, momentarily lost for words. The time before that he'd picked up a hitchhiker. The man was later reported to have gone around claiming "batman" gave him a ride to the airport.

"No," Mrs. Jones said flatly.

"Then surely it's because nobody can stand to place a finger on my pretty face?"

"That's a possibility," Mrs. Jones conceded demurely, placing a peppermint on her tongue. Alex pulled a face.

"Eh, don't go along with my jokes Mrs. Jones, it's weird."

"Fine. You are unbecoming."

"Aww, come on, that's not what I meant…"

Mrs. Jones rolled her eyes – something she only ever did when she was around the young man. "Enough. You're taking the time off whether you think you need it or not. I'm sorry for not being sorry, Alex, but you're a textbook workaholic."

Alex jutted out his bottom lip at the head of MI6. "Is it really an appropriate term when 'work' applies to saving the world?"

"You are not a superhero, Alex. You need a life."

He frowned. "Fine. I suppose I can't exactly force you to give me missions…"

"Very true. Come now, Alex, don't look so upset. It's paid vacation. You ought to catch up with some of your old friends."

Except Alex had lost touch with most of his friends a long time ago, and he told her as much. Sitting back down in the chair, he placed his elbows on the desk and allowed his chin to drop into hands, which rested on each cheek beneath a hopeless expression. Mrs. Jones seemed genuinely saddened by this.

"I'm tempted to just hang around your office during my vacation and annoy you," he informed her. She gave a half smile.

"Well, you know you're welcome here anytime as long as I don't have some kind of conference… which is pretty much all the time…"

It was lucky that Tulip Jones didn't have much of a life herself, for taking over from Alan Blunt was no easy task. Being head of MI6 was, contrary to popular belief, _not_ a figurehead position. She could no longer count on both hands the amount of times she'd fallen asleep in the very chair she was currently perched in, gazing at Alex over a tall pile of paperwork.

Alex had come to terms with the undeniable fact that the world needed him when he was fifteen, and signed on as an official agent of MI6 at sixteen years old (although he still did missions for other intelligence agencies granted they were on good terms with the UK – he had gathered such international acclaim that he'd become somewhat of a gambling piece within the realm of national security). Jack returned to America with Alex's blessing, for they readily stayed in touch and she and her family were guarded day and night from afar by CIA agents. He would never forget the support she offered during those first few stressful years after Ian's death, and even if his entire being had ached with the weight of her absence, he knew she had to live her own life, and that meant returning to her home country eventually.

After that he started picking up missions like wildfire. He found that when he was properly briefed and prepared for a mission (and they weren't incredibly personal, involving family history and identity crises to throw him on an emotional roller coaster), the experience was really quite different. Easy, even. Embarrassingly easy. He infiltrated the world of crime, sabotage and terrorism with a mind educated from the inside out – even if his time spent in Malagosto had been dark and confusing, there was no denying that what he learned there helped shape him into the profoundly _good_ spy he was now. And with that, the perks to being a spy were also discovered– namely the fine wine, high-rolling, and just all-around extravagant lifestyle often undertaken when he was undercover.

And, of course, the women. The unforgettable _women._

That being said, there was only one woman that stuck around as a constant in Alex's life, and that was Mrs. Jones, who he had developed an uncommonly close relationship with. It was nice being able to invest time into a relationship with someone he wasn't endangering the life of, and he imagined it was a similar case for her, since they shared one big thing in common – they'd both sacrificed their own personal lives for the purpose of the greater good.

His friendship with Mrs. Jones was relaxed and quite entertaining, considering how patient and difficult she was to get a rise out of. He could say the most outrageous things to the woman and she somehow managed to receive it all with a straight face.

Naturally, Alex's amicable mannerisms and personal association with the head of MI6 had stirred whispers in the beginning, and someone even let it slip just how absurd it really was, considering that Alex had reportedly, at one point, attempted to _assassinate_ the woman (of course nobody believed this and scoffed at the audacity of some gossips…). But they soon grew accustomed to it, attributing it to Alex's extraordinary orbit. Many people in the Royal and General noticed this and began gifting Alex with the same level of respect and slight fear borne of awe that Mrs. Jones was treated to, much to his amusement and her chagrin.

"Yeah, alright. Wanna grab lunch tomorrow?"

She glanced down at the small tablet built into the desk, pawing it with her index finger to bring up a calendar. "Oh, god… it looks like a swamp tomorrow, but I'll contact you later this week. Keep out of trouble, Alex."

"Don't I always?" he quipped, jumping up out of the chair and turning to head through the door.

"_Not_ what I want to hear…"

Alex allowed her voice to fade out behind him as the elevator doors closed. Now what was he going to do for a month?

0o0o0o

* * *

Tom Harris heaved a sigh as he stepped out of the comfort of his car and into the looming building ahead of him. Brookland Comprehensive School looked the same as it always did, with its red brick exterior and tall entranceways. He used to loathe going through those doors every morning. "They couldn't pay me to spend another year here," he could remember having told his friend James upon the day of graduation. And now, well, that's exactly what they did.

"Good morning Tom," the secretary greeted him. Mrs. Bedfordshire had retired not long ago and the current secretary was an attractive brunette who played the "sexy librarian" look quite effectively. Tom forced himself to send her back a polite grin.

"Morning, Alison. Sleep well?"

"Not much," she replied with a secretive smile. He swallowed. _Yes, definitely flirting with me._

This was Tom Harris's first year teaching his very own class. He'd graduated college early at twenty-one years old, having been a December baby, and subbed for two years until the shortage of teachers finally got to the board of education and they were forced to give out a few more permanent jobs. And Tom, with some of the best reports in the area, was one of those lucky people. It was pure chance that he'd ended up back at Brookland, really.

He collapsed into his chair after unlocking the dark classroom, tiredly setting his chin onto his desk. Closing his eyes for a moment, Tom tried a little harder to recollect Sunday night's events: he'd been invited out by some buddies for a "harmless" night of watching the football game that had quickly turned… not so harmless. Really, the alarm bells should have been ringing when the car pulled into the local pub.

As such, Tom was now gathering the teaching plan together in his sluggish hands from what felt like underwater. His mind was processing things with all the speed of a slug as he attempted to quell the throbbing hangover by popping a few painkillers.

"Morning Mr. Harris!" a young girl chirped, swinging into the classroom with a beam. He winced, waving at her weekly.

"Good morning Lauren," he returned, sinking back into his chair.

"What's wrong? Are you sick?" She was one of the louder children in his class.

"Ah, yes," he decided to concede. "Try and keep your voice down–"

"Morning Mr. Harris!" the next student's voice smacked him in the face, making him wonder if they weren't all shouting this particular morning or if things were just unpleasantly magnified due to the hangover.

"Morning," he mumbled, trying to shield his head from the fluorescent lighting.

Being a teacher was rewarding and all, but he had a feeling he would _never_ get used to Monday mornings.

0o0o0o

* * *

Alex was sitting hunched over a small laptop, one hand lost in his hair and the other clutching his knee. "Tom is a _teacher?"_ he muttered quietly to himself, eyebrows raised.

He was sitting in an internet café called The Blue Cheese ten minutes away from his home, which was also, coincidentally, ten minutes away from Brookland in the opposite direction. The spy had decided to check out his old school's website and find out how much had changed – the last thing he'd expected was to see Tom's face in the front page's newsfeed reading "Brookland Comprehensive's New History Teacher".

Well, that made sense, he supposed. Tom always had enjoyed history. He was also good with kids, Alex remembered, thinking back to Tom's sympathetic attitude towards the children in younger years.

But a _teacher_.

Oh, this would be fun indeed.

Pulling out his mobile, Alex scrolled through the contacts until he reached the name he was looking for. "Ah, Lola? It's Alex! … Yeah, it's alright I guess – actually, about that. See I was wondering if you wouldn't mind helping me with something…"

0o0o0o

* * *

Hello friends!

So I'm sure you're all wondering what you're doing here, reading a story by me that is _not_ a one-shot and _not_ Life's a Beach. I assure you, I have no excuse.

This is a light-hearted piece and will remain a light-hearted piece. It will not have any sort of intense plot and is mostly for my own intentions (namely, writing something Alex Rider-related to inspire me to continue working on Life's a Beach and ultimately finish it, as well as practice whatever writing techniques I feel like experimenting with… or just an outlet for comic banter. Ah, I've been found out…)

I hope you'll all forgive me and provide feedback anyway! Honestly, I've wanted to do something Alex/Tom!Friendship for a very, very long time. (Too much K-unit makes Maddy a dull girl… ugh.)

As I am a sponge for reviews, here is my customary plea: I'll trade you feedback for writing! That's pretty fair, eh? Some free reading for you, some critique for me… everybody wins! We wouldn't want this to be a one-way street, would we? You're all too kind, too kind…

**Next chapter:** "Why are you at my door after ignoring every attempt at contacting you I've made over the past eight years?"


	2. History

**All in the Faculty**

Chapter 2: History

"Tuesdays. I like Tuesdays," Tom tried to encourage himself as he sauntered up the front steps of Brookland Comprehensive. "I have good luck on Tuesdays. Tuesdays and I go way back. Yeah."

He pushed his way into the school, ambling up to the front desk and smiling at Alison the secretary. She beamed right back at him, but the movement caused a long brown strand of hair to slip out from behind her ear and over her eye, so she was forced to pause and shyly push it back.

And with that single adorable gesture, all of Tom's nerve drained away.

"Lovely morning, isn't it, Tom?" she quipped.

Tom stared. "Uh, y-yeah… peachy."

_I'll ask her out tomorrow. Wednesdays are good. Wednesdays and I are birds of a feather, really._

He moved to escape from the front office, or Tom's proclaimed "Cave of Forbidden Desire" (as he was loathe to initiate anything with someone in the workplace after hearing so many bad things about the situation), but he was stopped by her lyrical voice once again.

"Ah, Tom? I was told to pass something on to you."

He backtracked a few steps, linking his fingers around the wall and peeking his head back into the office window. "Is that so?"

"Yes. Principal Tanner requested I tell you you've got an assistant teacher coming in to join you."

Tom frowned, drumming his fingers against the wall. "But I've only had the class for a month…"

She shrugged, sending another one of her too-cheerful-for-eight-in-the-morning-she-totally-wants-me grins his way. "They're probably being sent in to help you with the heavy workload. You are a new teacher after all… I imagine it's somebody who's already retired from teaching their own classes."

His frown shifted into more of a grimace as he rolled the new information around in his head. He didn't want another teacher coming in and stealing his thunder so soon, to be honest. Even if they would be taking some work off his shoulders for free. "Think so? There isn't that much work though…"

"Well, maybe they want you to teach someone!"

That just seemed downright silly. All the teachers he'd assisted during his first couple years out of university had been teaching for at least eight years. He ought to still be training himself! Whatever the reason was, it put a downer on Tom's "good-luck" Tuesday. Scratching the back of his head, he turned away, sufficiently confused.

"I guess I'll just have to wait and see, then. Did he tell you anything else? When they're coming in?"

"Thursday, I think? Nothing other than that."

"Ah. Two days' notice. Brilliant."

"I think you're doing a wonderful job teaching those kids, Tom."

He glanced back at the pretty girl, scrutinizing her. She _was_ making a pass at him with all these compliments, right? He never did have any luck dealing with girls or analyzing their behavior – in high school, that was always his best friend's forte…

She was twiddling her fingers in front of her mouth as though she was waiting for something. This drew his attention down to her manicured fingernails.

"I like your nails," he commented lamely, pointing at her hands. She blinked owlishly at him before looking down at them herself. If she had in fact been waiting for something, that had not been it.

"Oh. Thanks." She was likely preparing to charge up another ten thousand-watt smile, but Tom just couldn't take the tension anymore.

"Right, thanks for the heads up, Alison."

He wasted no haste in hightailing it out of there and back into the sanctuary of his own classroom – while it could still be called that.

0o0o0o

* * *

And, truly, only _Tom_ would call it that in the first place.

Tom adjusted his tie in the hazy reflection of the whiteboard, biting his lip as he turned it side-to-side in an attempt to get it straight. Responding to a slight tug on the back of his coat, he turned to see the short, skinny form of Katie Healy. The twelve year-old was looking at him condescendingly.

"Bend down," she ordered and, ever the pushover, Tom did as she asked.

Katie reached up and fixed the tie herself, giving his shoulders a quick sweep for dust. "There. You'd almost look half-presentable, if you ever bothered taking a comb to your hair."

"Katie," he scolded half-heartedly before ruffling her hair and standing up again. She gave a squeak of displeasure. "Now who needs a comb?"

"Mr. Harris!" she seethed, desperately trying to flatten the bird's nest of hair he'd summoned on top of her head. "That's the _last_ time I try and help you!"

"If I'm ever able to teach you a single thing, Katie, I hope it's that looks are fleeting," he said lightly, picking up the whiteboard marker and beginning to scribe the letters W, E, D, S onto the far right corner of the wall. "Trust me and the wisdom I have accumulated in my old age."

"You're twenty-three," another student in the back complained, tossing a crumpled ball of paper at Katie and sending it bouncing off the side of her head. She looked like a tea kettle ready to start shrieking, so Tom quickly seized her shoulders and led her back to her desk, instructing another student to comb Katie's hair before the redhead burst into tears.

"Isaac! No throwing things!"

"Is this a _note?"_ Olivia Young gasped. The boy who'd thrown the paper ball, presumably Isaac, stood up like he'd been electrified into the position. His eyes were wide and horrified.

"That's for Katie!" he shouted. Tom snatched the note out of Olivia's hands before she could inspect its contents and tore it up in front of the whole class, effectively silencing them. When the paper was in shreds on the floor and nobody remained whispering, he kneeled down and collected the tiny pile, dumping it into the recycling bin by the door.

"Now," he said in his best no-nonsense teacher voice, "if you'll all settle down, I've got an announcement to make."

"You're no fun, Mr. Harris," Olivia muttered, settling into the back of her chair. Gossips always did appear early on in the development of the high school social pyramid.

"I'm plenty fun. I enjoy Scrabble and the Sunday crossword."

"That's not fun."

"Enough about fun!" he cut off the tangent, turning back to the board and finishing the date. "School isn't supposed to be fun. It's supposed to be exhilarating with the sheer power of _learning!"_

Isaac sneezed, and his enthusiasm went unappreciated by the shuffling class.

"I've been told that a teacher's assistant will be joining us tomorrow."

The room erupted into a chorus of questions. "Is it a boy?" "Is it a girl?" "Is she hot?" "Is she old?" "Why?" "Are they finally replacing you, Mr. Harris?" "How long is he going to be in the class with us?" "Why?"

"I either have a two day hangover, or the most irritating group of students in existence," he mumbled under his breath. "_Class!_ Quiet! I actually don't know anything about her or him. And I don't know why, either. So that's all the questions I have time for today."

The class collectively groaned.

"Fret not, for we have an exciting period ahead of us today! Now… onto monarchies!"

0o0o0o

* * *

_Knock, knock, knock._

Tom leaned back from where he was standing in front of his kitchen stove, stirring a pot of Kraft Dinner. It was a little late for anyone to be stopping in and visiting him – 10:22 P.M. was past the bedtime of most of his neighbors, and his friends generally called before making trips to his house. Curious, he took the lid of the pot and pushed it to the edge of the burner, wary of spilling since he'd done a load of dishtowel laundry today already.

Wiping his hands on his jeans, he made his way over to the door and pressed his face against the peephole. A tall man waited for him on his doorstep, head turned away and sunglasses shielding his eyes from inspection. He had unusually sunny hair.

_Sunglasses at ten at night? This guy must have something to prove._

"Hello?" Tom called. "Who's that?"

The man behind the door sighed. "Open up, Tommyboy."

Tom gaped like a fish. "Who _is _that?_" _he demanded again. Few people were familiar enough with him to be calling him something like that, and none of them looked anything like the stranger outside his house.

The visitor's lips twitched up into a smile, and Tom couldn't help but feel like there was something achingly _familiar_ about the expression. Maybe he _did_ know this man – he might be able to tell if he'd take off the damn sunglas… _oh._

Lo and behold, the newcomer had done just that – eased the sunglasses down from the bridge of his nose so he was peeking up at the glass eye in such a way that Tom's heart constricted. He knew that face – and most of all, he knew that _look._ That carefully constructed smile, the comfortable, confident posture, and those smirking brown eyes…

"Alex _bloody _Rider," Tom growled.

"Hiya."

"Don't think for one second that I am going to open this door."

"Don't worry, nobody else knows it's me – what do you think the sunglasses are for?"

"Is this some kind of sick _joke?"_ Tom hissed, yanking the door open despite having claimed alterior intentions a few seconds earlier. "Because it's _not _funny."

"Who's laughing?" Alex asked, holding his hands up as though to gesture to the empty front yard.

"You are. In your head. At me."

"Now why would I be doing that?"

"Because – now look at that, I've gone and opened the door. Goddammit…"

"May I come in?"

"Like hell," Tom snapped, placing both hands against either side of the doorframe like Alex was preparing to shove right past him inside the house regardless. The blonde removed his sunglasses all together, tucking them into his back pocket before lacing his hands together in front of him benignly.

"Don't look at me like that," Tom barked, glaring at the innocently-blinking man. "Don't look at me like nothing's changed."

Alex's expression softened into something more genuine. "Tom…"

Tom shook his head. "No, look – it's fine, I got it. I got it a long time ago. Duty comes before personal life…"

"You don't really _sound_ like you get it…"

Tom laughed humorlessly. "Oh, but I _do._ You cut everyone out of your life so you could focus on your big important career as an international spy. The career that you hate. The one you were _forced into_."

"I don't hate it…" Alex trailed off.

"Well, you certainly used to. Point for me."

"I'm–"

"What is this? Why are you at my door after ignoring every attempt at contacting you I've made over the past eight years?"

"To be fair, you stopped trying after three." Tom moved to shut the door in his face, prompting Alex to slam a hand against the doorframe as well, right above Tom's own. Angry blue clashed with pleading brown, and at the look of true regret in those depths, Tom felt the beginnings of his resolve's decay. He needed to make this as quick and painless as possible.

"I can't let you do this. I can't maintain our friendship, I can't _do it all…"_ Tom told him seriously. "You have to go."

"I'm not asking you to–"

"Alex, asking me to do anything else would just be an insult at this point. Please leave."

Alex gazed evenly back at the man, nibbling his lip as he hesitantly considered his options. Tom could only hope he would do the polite thing and walk away. After one last look at Tom's twisted face, Alex slid the sunglasses back on, severing any link of familiarity Tom might have felt with his former best friend.

"Okay," Alex conceded softly, turning around and heading back down the grown-in cobblestone pathway. Tom watched him go painfully.

When he was back in the house he finally allowed his knees to give, collapsing onto the couch despite the likely overdone noodles still boiling on the stove. With this development, the last three day's exhaustion _really_ caught up with him.

He'd spent years cursing Alex for abandoning his life and his home – for giving up against a force he'd spent so long fighting against. He'd spent years _angry_ at the blonde who'd rescued him from a life of never ending bullying and parental torment, who'd inspired him to join the football team and work hard in school, who'd introduced him to the friends he still kept in contact with today. He owed so much to him, and he was never given the chance to really repay him before Alex defected from Brookland, sending Jack back to America and yanking Tom's second home right out from beneath his feet.

And now, after eight years of waiting for his best friend to find his way back to him, he'd violently shoved him away.

Tom swept his hands over his face.

"Some friend _I_ am."

0o0o0o

* * *

I know Anthony Horowitz has referred to Alex's hair as fair _and_ light brown (presumably it darkens over time as people's hair tends to do) but Alex is forever a bubbly blonde in my head, so I'm always going to write him as one.

And wow! What a fabulous response I got for the first chapter :) Thank you guys so much for your encouraging words! I love you aaaall!

I've been pretty busy lately but it's November so hopefully I'll have more time to sit down and write now. _Not like I've been distracted from the world of writing by Danisnotonfire and AmazingPhil videos..._ *cough*

Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or Kraft Dinner. This is a work of fiction.

P.S. Somebody's gotta tell me they understand the pun in the story's title. Sombody's _gotta._

**Next chapter: **"... you guys can call me Alex if you've got the nerve. Couldn't tell you where Mr. Harris is; he used to be so punctual…"


	3. Mr Beckett

**All in the Faculty**

Chapter 3: Mr. Beckett

"Of course_. Punctual Tom_ is late the one time it matters most. That is so brilliantly _me_," were some of Tom's irritated ramblings as the man swept about his home, picking at his messy hair in front of the bathroom mirror in resignation. He had ten minutes to get to the school before the bell ran, and it was a ten minute drive.

Tom threw himself at his wardrobe, dancing around on one foot as he struggled to dress at an unreasonable speed. He moved onto brushing his teeth and splashing some cold water on his face, eventually pausing only to inspect his own reflection. He frowned in obvious distaste.

"Oh, God," he grumbled at the panda-like purple bags under his eyes. His cheek was bright red from sleeping on his hands, and creases from his pillow case were embedded into his forehead, making him look much older than he was. Perhaps that was a good thing.

Tom had tossed and turned all through the night, thinking not of the assistant teacher, but of his former best friend. To see Alex turn up on his doorstep after eight years of having nothing to do with each other had obviously not been something he'd been able to mentally prepare himself for – there were too many emotions left over from empty-feeling football practices in year twelve and times when Tom had just wished he'd had someone who he could vent to like he used to have, someone to give him advice and encourage him and laugh at his jokes despite Tom's odd sense of humor. Of course he couldn't forgive him right off the bat…

… No matter how _sorry_ he'd looked…

_Ugh, stop it Tom! Persist! He has to realize how angry I was! Or _– am!

But, in truth, the anger had drained away a long time ago. And even if Tom would never admit it, seeing Alex after all that time had instinctually brought, of all things, a _smile_ to his face. He'd suppressed the instant reaction, of course, but it had been there. See, where many people struggled to _forgive _those who wronged them, Tom struggled to stay mad and maintain his authority on the matter. He wasn't an angry person, and he didn't naturally hold grudges.

He had to really make an effort to. It wasn't easy!

He snatched his keys off the bedside table, glancing back at the clock in the process. Five minutes past the bell. He hoped the assistant teacher was at least punctual, or the school would be _really_ annoyed.

Tom awkwardly speed-walked through the lobby, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Alison shot him a sideways glance, and he sent her a cheery wave before leaping up the staircase two steps at a time. His classroom door loomed into view, held wide open by a rock painted to look like a ladybug just the way it usually was. As Tom sped toward the opening, a voice hit his ears.

And not just any voice.

"… Mr. Beckett, but you guys can call me Alex if you've got the nerve. Couldn't tell you where Mr. Harris is; he used to be so punctual…"

Tom's hand slammed down against the doorframe, pulling his body into view a second later. Standing with his entire body tense and quivering from the adrenaline rush of his quick venture, the students had never seen him look so ruffled. Figuratively and literally.

"Did you sleep in, Mr. Harris?" a student piped up. He didn't bother sparing her a glance with his gaze set widely and firmly on the carefree blonde leaning casually against the whiteboard. The name "Alex Beckett" had been scrawled on the serene white surface in surprisingly elegant script; construction had to have been undertaken since high school had ended, because Tom certainly couldn't recall Alex's notes _ever_ looking so organized.

"Uh," Tom cleared his throat, balking across at his ex-friend. Alex smiled politely, giving a short wave.

"Alex Beckett, your new assistant teacher," he introduced jovially. "Charmed!"

"Charmed…" Tom repeated slowly, less like a reply and more like an utterance of bafflement. "What are you _doing here?"_

"Didn't they tell you I was coming?" Alex asked, the picture of surprise.

"Didn't they – you – I…"

"Mr. Harris?" a different student prompted. "Alright?"

"I – _I need to talk with you outside the classroom for minute!"_

"Are you sure that's a good idea? The class has already been delayed twenty minutes, wouldn't want to… y-yes okay."

Alex's argument had faded away from the look Tom had sent him. Shuffling forward, he moved through the door and paused against the opposite wall in the hallway, smiling uneasily. Tom didn't take his gaze off him the entire time. The door was shut, and then Tom shot himself across the three foot gap between them, his hand closing around Alex's tie as he harshly yanked it forward. Alex had his fingers wrapped around the loop milliseconds after Tom surged forward, so there was no choking – just a nose-to-nose confrontation between a furious teacher and his unrepentant "assistant".

"So this is the real joke, huh?" Tom ground out, shaking the tie and jarring Alex's balance. He stumbled, hands still attached to his neck. "Come to get me fired?"

"No!" Alex protested. "Let go of my tie!"

"You – _you_ let go of your tie! What do you think you're doing here? 'Assistant teacher', now, are you? Like history, do you? _Mother_ of all that is _sacred_…"

"Tom," Alex butted in quickly. "Come on…"

"Don't you '_Tom'_ me–!"

The classroom door opened, and Olivia's head appeared in the opening. "Mr. Harris…"

She broke off when she saw the way Tom was handling Alex, who looked between his victim and his student before hastily releasing the taller man. Alex readjusted the accessory with his index finger, shifting on his feet and grinning at the girl.

"Ah, hello. What's your name?"

She stared at him, and Alex received the distinct impression that his soul was being examined. "Olivia Young. What was he just doing to you?"

"Nothing!" Tom's hands spasmed at his sides, and Alex shot him a mocking look at the incriminating physical response. Olivia snorted.

"Yeah right, I saw you! You were holding his collar!"

"I was inspecting it for… oatmeal."

She did not look convinced. "It's true!" Alex chimed in. "I had oatmeal for breakfast. Oatmeal and sliced strawberries, a very balanced breakfast."

Olivia rolled her eyes at the words. "You don't have to attempt to get us to eat healthy. Honestly, teachers think they have to be _saints…"_

"You don't understand," Alex broke in, jamming a thumb in Tom's direction, "Tom really _is_ a saint."

"Alex!" Tom hissed furiously, prompting Olivia to glance between them again.

"Did you guys already know each other?" she inquired suspiciously.

"No," they both said at once, with Tom immediately reddening. Pausing to think about how flustered he must be looking, Tom took a deep breath. Then, after a second's rest, he used his hands to sort out his messy hair, occasionally licking his fingers throughout the organization. The remaining two people watched him blankly.

"Listen up!" he said when he was done, straightening and looking twice as menacing as the average school teacher. He adjusted his "reading glasses", which he actually didn't need and only wore to make himself look more intimidating and sophisticated. Half the class had figured this out already; half had not.

The look seemed to be working for him then, at least, since both Alex and Olivia snapped to attention. Tom glared intently at the pair.

"Olivia. Go back into the classroom and wait for me to return. Alex! Aim to get most of your breakfast _into_ your mouth next time!"

Alex paused, shrugged, and then nodded furiously as Olivia stared up at the men in clear disapproval. "Yes, Mr. Harris…" she ground out, disappearing behind the door again. Tom whipped around to face Alex once more, but he was interrupted for a second time.

"Ah, Mr. Harris. Nice to see you've finally arrived! And in time to meet our guest as well…"

Tom shivered at the sound of Brookland's superintendent's high-pitched voice. He turned to look at the approaching man, who had his salt-and-pepper hair pushed back with gel so that it swelled like a fifties' businessman. He focused his disgruntled gaze across the hall, where the darkly-clad man's face had appeared.

"Ted," he grunted, eyes despairing. "Hullo."

It was a somewhat of a secret that Tom hated the headmaster, but it was no secret that the headmaster hated Tom. He didn't respect Tom's teaching ability due to lack of experience, after having insisted that his school receive only the most tried and true of the teachers seeking employment. Alas, his pleas went sorely ignored, and so he deemed it the next proper course of action to treat Tom like dirt for the entire duration of his employment.

Theodore "Ted" Tanner smiled disdainfully at the man.

"What do you think?" he inquired jovially, mashing his teeth behind that wide grin. "Mr. Beckett is an esteemed teacher of nine years! He's going to supervise you and help you adjust to the responsibility of educating twenty or thirty children at once."

Tom reigned in the defensiveness that desperately wanted to make itself known, smiling uneasily. "Nine years, is it?"

He met Alex's gaze before roaming over his clear, youthful face – there was no way Alex had been teaching for _nine years._ Not unless he'd been doing his education degree in a nineties arcade.

"Well, eight and a half," Alex conceded modestly, offering a demure smile. Tom sighed in resignation.

"I hope this will improve your performance, Mr. Harris. Really." His eyes seemed to sharpen beneath a shaft of light bleeding down from a window.

"For your sake."

Then he breezed past Tom, patting Alex's shoulder good-naturedly before turning a corner and fading from their sight. Tom gazed after the man with eyes that had glazed over at some point, until Alex's voice brought him back.

"Well. That was… direct."

Tom shook his head, placing a hand against the wall and leaning on it heavily. He used the other to rub his face. "Ugh, I hate that guy! He's so… old-fashioned! He's forty-freaking-four and he acts like some ancient conservative grandpa! You know the only female teachers that have been hired here since he took over a decade ago have been fit young women? And he's constantly on my case for being new!"

"Sounds like a really shady guy."

"You don't know the half of it!" Tom exclaimed. "On top of that, he's a complete idiot! He _actually_ believed you'd been a teacher for nine years? How old did you tell him you _were?"_

His whispering was loud and angry, painting him more as a pissed-off cat and less of a real threat. Alex shrugged. "Something like thirty-three?"

"Thirty-_three?"_ Tom exclaimed, dropping his head into his hands as his shoulder met the wall. "Oh my god. You look like you could be a bloody student."

"Hey!" Alex objected. "I don't look that young!"

"Oh, you do – wait a minute, why are we even having this conversation?"

"Look," Alex cut in quickly, "the way I see it, this is a huge opportunity for you! If I spend a little while _supervising_ your classroom before turning in a blazing report of praise and goodwill, it'll force him to openly respect you more as a teacher!"

"I – that's – well…"

Alex's voice was fast and consistent, hammering each point home. "It's the perfect plan, since he already respects _me_ and _my_ word. As long as he doesn't figure out we're secretly friends or that I'm not who I say I am, you'll come out of this looking like some kind of teaching genius!"

What did it for Tom wasn't the excitement in Alex's eyes as he made the "plan" come alive with hand gestures and grins, or even the proposed benefits of playing along with Alex's "plan". No – what made the decision for Tom was hearing the words "we're secretly friends" leave Alex's lips as he relayed the scheme to Tom like a twelve year old with their own new version of capture the flag.

"So…" Tom made the mistake of looking back at the source of the idea and spotted the pleading look in Alex's unsteady smile. He had the expression of a puppy with its ears pressed back against its head, as though he was bracing himself for the inevitable retaliation that would surely follow.

"How about it?"

He was so going to regret this.

"… Okay. But this doesn't mean I'm not still mad at you."

Alex's entire face lit up. He was nodding again. "Sure, 'course! I'd still be mad at me, too! I'll give you the best review ever, Tom. I've already got a billion killer one-liners – the kind they'd put on the back of your autobiography, y'know, or your tombstone."

"Alex…" Tom complained, reaching toward the door and easing it open.

"Sorry!" Alex whispered as he caught up, grinning at the sea of chatty children. They all quieted upon the two men's return, with Olivia looking particularly expectant.

"Ah," Tom began, reaching back to scratch the back of his head. Alex rolled back on his heels, flicking a strand of hair from his eye. Isaac Smith coughed into his elbow. "It seems that… Mr. Beckett has already introduced himself. I expect you all to treat him with the same degree of respect you would I."

Lauren Adler giggled.

0o0o0o

* * *

For anyone who doesn't know, Beckett is Alex's mom's last name. He used it so that the Brookland faculty wouldn't make a connection between him and Alex Rider, former Brookland student, beyond familiarity and the same first name.

Also, an anon asked when Alex's hair is described as light brown. This happens a couple times in the later books (post Scorpia/Ark Angel, I believe).

Thank you to everyone who took the time to leave a review for me! I really really _really_ appreciate it. And so many fav's and follows already! Ah! I'm so flattered…

**Next chapter**: "Mr. Beckett. Outside. _Now."_

PS. Sorry for the late update but I have had a lot going on. Thank you for understanding and being kind to me anyway c:


	4. Old Habits

**All in the Faculty**

Chapter 4: Old Habits

A week had passed since Alex (or Mr. Beckett as he was widely known to the class) had joined Tom's classroom as his assistant teacher, and it was safe to say that he was possibly the worst assistant teacher Brookland Comprehensive had ever seen. Not that anyone important knew it, of course. He was perfectly productive in the presence of other teachers. And despite knowing that Alex was very much _not _a teacher of nine years and, in reality, a government spy on paid vacation, his uselessness had long since begun to irritate Tom.

"The main problem facing Henry was restoring faith and strength in the monarchy. He also had to deal with other claimants, with some of them having a far stronger claim than his own. To deal with this, Henry VII strengthened the government and his own power, at the expense of the nobles…"

Tom's eyes landed on the hunched form of Alex, who was quietly sleeping near the back of the classroom.

"Henry also had to deal with a treasury that was nearly bankrupt. The English monarchy had never been one of the wealthiest of Europe and even more so after the War of the Roses. Through his monetary strategy, Henry managed to steadily accumulate wealth during his reign, so that by the time he died, he left a considerable fortune to his son…"

Isaac yawned loudly.

Tom's eyes gleamed. "Isaac. Can you tell me what the name of his son was?"

Isaac's eyes widened comically. "Uhh…"

"The clock is ticking."

"Was it… Henry _VIII?"_

"Correct."

Isaac sighed in visible relief.

"Now today I'm going to be giving you all some classroom time to work on your monarchy projects. Mr. Beckett and I will float around the room answering questions and offering help, so…"

"Maybe you should wake Mr. Beckett up first," Angelica Jones snickered.

"That's a first-class idea, Angelica."

Tom leaned over his desk and opened the bottom drawer, where Alex stashed his lunch each morning. Retracting a small green apple, he straightened, rolled his shoulder a bit, and then pitched the apple straight across the room, drawing a few surprised cries from the students. However, rather than connecting with Alex's head and embarrassing him in front of the class like Tom had intended it to, the plan backfired.

Alex's hand shot out and snatched the apple right out of the air, his eyes remaining closed all the while. The exchange happened so quickly and suddenly that most of the kids were only able to register that Mr. Beckett had was now holding an apple and Mr. Harris was looking mildly murderous.

Stretching his arms out across the desk, Alex opened his mouth in a large yawn and finished it by closing his mouth on the apple, biting off a chunk with a satisfying _crunch. _Then he finally decided to open his eyes, gazing straight ahead at Tom. Tom swallowed.

"Is it lunch already?" Alex asked casually.

"Whoa," Lucas Tennyson whispered in awe. Tom could practically see the cogs turning in the minds of the students, reevaluating their assistant teacher with new notions.

"We have work to do, Mr. Beckett," he said in a clipped voice.

Alex bit into the apple again. The class was quiet in their observation of the pair's banter. It was one of the best things about being in Tom and Alex's class – sharing stories with the other school children during breaks about their teachers' demonstrations.

"Ah, okay. Those projects again?"

Tom rolled his eyes without bothering to respond. As he turned around to tidy up his desk, he heard one of the quieter girls lean over and mumble to Alex, "Will you help me glue pictures to my display?"

Tom surreptitiously tilted his head so that he was able to watch the pair out of the corner of his eye. Alex, now finished his apple, grinned widely at the girl before responding warmly, "Sure. I love crafts."

Alex tossed his apple core in the garbage can across the room before wrenching his desk closer to hers, closing the gap between them and allowing the young girl to collect her poster from the floor and lay it across the surface of both tables.

"What's your name?" Alex asked. The girl blushed.

"B-Bridget."

"Right, Bridget. Pass me that glue stick?"

Tom was called to the office a minute later, and, unwisely leaving Alex in charge of the classroom, returned to find the space in near ruins. Shreds of construction paper littered the floor, and during the twenty minutes Tom had been away the class had convinced Alex it would be a good idea to ditch the agenda and instead craft a crown-shaped cut-out garland to hang above Tom's desk. When Tom walked into the room, Alex was balancing a roll of tape in one hand and a garland in the other. He had one end of it already taped to the ceiling as the mob of children egged him on.

Tom felt his blood pressure skyrocket upon processing the scene.

"… Mr. _Beckett…!"_

Alex turned around, hopping a little to avoid the keyboard on the desk, and smiled.

"Mr. Harris! You are now _officially_ the king of the castle."

"King Harris!" a few students began to cry. Tom hurriedly closed the door, rushing forward to grab Alex's wrist and yank him forward. Alex swayed precariously, somehow managing to remain upright even as Tom furiously pulled.

"Get down from there! You are setting a bad example!"

"I am not!" Alex huffed, wrenching his arm out of Tom's grip and taking a step back. A pencil snapped beneath his foot. "If I was setting a bad example I'd be asking one of the _kids_ to stand up on the desk."

"That's my desk! And _that_ was my pencil!" Tom angrily pointed at the writing utensil.

One student decided to try and cut in there. "Don't be such a–"

"If you want to leave this classroom at the bell, you won't finish that sentence," Tom snapped, silencing the boy. Alex sent him a pitying look before straightening his back and shifting his feet. He looked as though he was preparing to do something that would give Tom a headache. Tom instantly frowned.

"What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.

"Getting off the desk," Alex told him before slowly leaning over so he was touching the desk's surface in front of his toes. Then he kicked his feet into the air, balancing with his fingers flexing half-off the edge. This incited more ooh's and ahh's already, even while Tom blanched and Alex slowly eased his body up further, so that instead of balancing on his palms, he was on his fingertips.

"He's gonna die!" someone cried. Alex's body pitched forward, and Tom slapped a hand over Lucas's mouth just as he opened it to scream. Then, as soon as it happened, it was over, and Alex was standing perfectly upright in front of Tom, rubbing his palms on his jeans and grinning boldly. The class broke out into a flurry of applause.

"So cool!" Lauren muttered. Her wide eyes were shining. "Can you teach me to do that?!"

"Absolutely not," Tom shut her down, despite not being the addressee of the question. "Mr. Beckett. Outside. Now."

The crowd booed, to Tom's great displeasure. "Pipe down!" he ordered before grabbing Alex's arm and dragging him off in the direction off the door. They ambled into the hallway, Tom's grip remaining iron-tight. When they were a safe distance away from the closed door he turned, taking in Alex's apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry," he said before Tom could say anything.

"Don't you dare," Tom hissed, jamming a finger into Alex's chest and forcing him to step back an inch. Alex's eyebrows creased into a frown of confusion.

"Don't I dare what?"

"Don't you dare start with those puppy-dog eyes!" he wailed as quietly as he could. Alex placed a hand over his eyes, shielding them from Tom's sights. Tom sniffed.

"That's better. Now, what the hell are you even sorry for?"

Alex still seemed perplexed. "Uh… is this a trick question?"

"I just want to hear you say it, that's all."

"I'm sorry for…" There was a momentary pause. Tom crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at his temporarily blind friend. Alex tried to smile, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

"Making you look uncool?"

"I always look cool!" Tom exploded. "I'm the coolest teacher in this school, _dammit!_ Try again!"

"Disrupting the class?"

"And?"

"Getting the students riled up?"

"And?"

"Turning the classroom into a mess?"

"_And?"_

"… Breaking your pencil?"

"My _favorite_ pencil!"

"Ah! I'll buy you a new one! _Promise!"_

Their bickering had become somewhat of a regular occurrence in the halls, with the occasional twist on Tom's disciplinary tactics placing Alex outside the classroom alone to think about what he's done. Two days later had Alex physically _thrown_ out the door, with Tom's unforgiving wrath going so far as to nearly slam his finger in the doorframe on the way out. Most of the children could agree that while Alex was fun and livened up the classroom scene considerably, he didn't know much about monarchies at all.

Alex was currently leaning against the hallway wall, kicking the painted ladybug rock between his feet and waiting for Tom to calm down enough to find him some kind of task to do that might permit him back into the classroom. Before that time came, however, Alex found himself joined by someone else.

The door across from him had a room number of "211" and a small white plate pasted to the surface beneath the numbers reading "BEATRIX" in tiny block print. While Alex had seen students coming in and out of the classroom many times, he'd had yet to meet the teacher forced to overhear the majority of Alex and Tom's infamous "hallway arguments".

Until now, that was.

"You must be Mr. Beckett," a voice from down the hall greeted him. Alex glanced up to meet the gaze of a woman he'd never seen before. Her lips were upturned in a smile, revealing her distinctive dimples. He automatically smiled back, steadying the rock he'd been spinning beneath his foot.

"That's me."

"Jane Beatrix," she introduced herself, slowing to a stop before him and offering her hand. She had a strong handshake.

"Nice to finally meet you," Alex told her. "You must be one of the pretty young girls Ted hired last year."

He must have said something he shouldn't have, because it took her all of half a second to tear her hand from his like it was on fire. Alex's eyes widened.

"Sorry," he instantly apologized, as per usual.

"What – what are you apologizing for?"

Alex was starting to get sick of this game. "For… calling you pretty?" he guessed vaguely. He scratched the top of his head. "You just…"

"That was – no –" She was squinting at him now. "Do I know you from somewhere…?"

Alex stared at her, trying to pinpoint those dimples in a moment of time he might have forgotten about. They hadn't met in Brookland; he knew that for sure. It couldn't have been anything recent or else he wouldn't have had such a hard time remembering her… so who was she?

Then it clicked. They _had_ met, but they'd never actually introduced themselves.

"No way in hell…" he muttered. "You're…"

"What?" she demanded.

"We – you and I, we…"

Her eyes widened and, being that they were already quite big, the effect was somewhat comical. "We slept together," she guessed.

"In Amsterdam."

"Am – _Amsterdam?_"

"Last year."

"In… in April, Christ, I remember that! You're… you're a teacher?"

"Well…" he said, shrugging. "I guess I am, aren't I?"

"I guess you are."

The door behind Alex opened out into the hallway, bumping Alex and making him jump a foot into the air. Even Jane looked spooked by Tom's entrance. The dark-haired man eyed them both with suspicion. After a few tense seconds Tom asked,

"Were you two just making out?"

"No!" they both cried.

"God, Tom!"

Tom smacked Alex's head before curling his fingers into his collar and violently pulling him back into the doorway, glancing across at Jane almost territorially. Jane arched an eyebrow.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Harris?"

"Not one, Ms. Beatrix. I'll be taking this back now, if you don't mind."

He shook Alex's collar, prompting the blonde to reach back and wrap his hands around Tom's neck. Tom pried the murderous hands away, retreating into his classroom and dragging a whining Alex behind him. The door closed with a louder-than-necessary slam.

0o0o0o

* * *

Thank you all for the reviews and favorites! I'm behind on my course readings so I'll have to leave you all without much of a ramble… although I'm sure that's not much of a problem for most of you. Happy January everyone!

**Next chapter**: "Being a teacher isn't just monarchies and apples on desks, Alex. You have to be a_ role model."_


	5. Professionals

**All in the Faculty**

Chapter 5: Professionals

It was 4:30 PM on a Friday afternoon and Tom was hunched over his desk chewing the end of his red ballpoint marking pen. The blinds were mostly shut across all the windows, and Tom had flicked on his desk light, creating a dim atmosphere that helped Tom to pretend it was much later than it actually was. He tore his thoughts away from possible Friday night plans with pretty brunette secretaries by squinting down at the work spread out over the surface of his desk: each and every one of the students' monarchy projects had to be marked by Monday, and Tom was having a much tougher time upholding his decision to get an early start on the work than he'd had making it in the first place.

His classroom door creaked open and in trotted Alex holding two green cans of ginger ale. The blonde then sauntered up to Tom's desk before pulling a chair out from beneath the closest desk and collapsing into it.

"Tommyboy, I swear, that secretary wants me."

"She does not!" Tom snapped, violently turning the page of a King Henry flipbook. Alex placed his hands in the air, slightly taken aback.

"Steady on… are you still mad at me?"

"Mad at you? How could I _possibly_ feel any anger towards you, Alex, my _perfect_ assistant teacher?"

"You're being sarcastic. I apologized, didn't I?"

"About _what?"_ Tom said exasperatedly, putting down his pen so that he could fix his weary gaze onto Alex. "About a thousand times for a thousand different things? Honestly, Alex, it really isn't that hard…"

Alex chewed on his bottom lip. "You want me to help grade those?" he asked, pointing at a sporadically decorated poster board. Tom sighed, pushing it across the table and into Alex's waiting hands. Alex instantly brightened.

"Hey! This is the one I helped make!"

Tom rifled around in his desk for a second pen, drawing a beat-up looking paper out from beneath a colorful recreation of Edinburgh Castle. "Now this is the marking rubric, so–"

He glanced up just in time to see Alex finish drawing a bright red A on the top right corner of the poster, complete with a circle around it. Alex looked at Tom and pointedly placed the cap back on the sharpie (as Tom had reminded him to do a dozen times) before placing his hands on his lap and smiling serenely.

"Did you even read that? You can't just _give_ her an A!"

"Why not? She's my favorite student!"

"Teachers aren't _supposed_ to have favorite students!" Tom stressed, shoving various files and projects aside in search of the elusive white-out. Alex rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but we all _know_ they _do_. Who's yours?"

"Alex," Tom cried, giving up and sinking down against the back of his chair. "Haven't you ever heard of the word 'professional'?"

"Sure I have. Professional _killer,_ aren't I?"

"That's – that's _not_ funny," Tom mumbled, startled by the answer. "You don't actually… _kill_ people for hire, do you?"

The mirth dancing in Alex's eyes died away in a flash, and by Tom's account he looked almost hurt by the question.

"Oh yeah, Tom, I'm a regular psycho," he snapped.

"Well _I_ don't know! Who's to say what MI6 forces their employees to do?"

"MI6 doesn't _force _me to do anything," he responded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why's it so dark in here? Would it kill you to turn on another light or two?"

Tom rubbed his forehead. "The fluorescent lights start to make me nauseous after having them on all day. I only have the one lamp."

"Whatever you say," Alex conceded, eyeing the blinds doubtfully. "Sure you don't just enjoy pretending you're a caveman after having to pretend you're an intellectual all day?"

"Real funny."

Alex offered a lopsided grin, all traces of his anger from a few seconds ago gone. Tom couldn't help but marvel at the way he switched between personas so quickly and seamlessly; it was difficult to say if this was because he was resilient against anguish or just remarkably flaky. Tom tried not let the unease this observation caused him show.

"Anyway, you never answered me. Who _is_ your favorite student? And don't lie and say you don't have one because I know for a fact that you do."

There really wasn't much point in lying to Alex anyhow, Tom concluded.

"It's Liam," he admitted. Alex blinked.

"Who's that?"

"You haven't met him. He's been out of school for the past couple weeks. I think he has trouble at home – some of the other teachers have approached me in the lounge asking me if I know anything, but his family keeps to themself."

"Hmm, a troubled boy who mysteriously misses too much school…"

"Knock it off, Alex, he's nothing like you. Much sweeter and mild-mannered."

"Hey! I can be sweet!"

"Right. Sweet enough to stop talking to me for eight years…" Tom muttered contemptuously.

Alex stood up and squinted down at Tom through the limited lighting. Tom followed his movements with his flat gaze, fingers laced together and supporting his chin. His stance reflected someone who'd grown quite used to dealing with stupidity and had since developed a happy place into which he might escape during such overwhelming moments.

"Alright, that's it, Tom," Alex started, picking up the apple on Tom's desk and shaking it for emphasis, "you don't really want my help marking these, do you? You just want to fight with me, is that it? You like starting trouble?"

"No, _you_ like starting trouble, you bloody prat."

"Everything I do you seem to have a problem with! I thought we were best mates!"

"We _were_," Tom sighed, glancing away. Since he couldn't exactly gaze out the window, he opted for glaring at the blinds. "But you're _– I'm_ – different. And we're going to have to make some changes if we want to be able to accommodate each other's differences. I'm a teacher now, I'm the person that used to _yell_ at us when we were laughing our best laughs, and you're a sodding _spy_ and it's _different, _alright; trying to pretend it isn't won't make our problems disappear."

Alex's eyes were sad. He placed the apple down on the desk, careful not to make a sound in the process. "I'm not different," he said quietly. "At least not much."

"Well, congratulations on staying the same," Tom grumbled, and Alex's frown deepened. Tom peered up at his friend for a moment longer before turning away and running a hand through his mess of dark hair.

"I want this to work…" Tom said, "I do. But being a teacher isn't just monarchies and apples on desks, Alex. You have to be a role model. You can't just mess around in class like you and I used to."

"But I'm not even a real teacher."

"Yes, I know that," Tom replied impatiently. "But you've got to act like one if you want this charade to carry on, got it? This is my _job,_ my _career._ I can't let my friends come in and do whatever they like for my own whims. If you're here you've got to be taking things more seriously. You've got to be making a _positive difference._"

"You're a good teacher, Tom," Alex offered, lips upturning in a half-smile. "Certainly got the lecturing part down."

He made an O with his thumb and pointing finger, shooting Tom a wink and a grin before immediately backing away upon seeing Tom stand up. The man's eyebrows were knit together in that familiar expression that meant he'd had enough of Alex's shit, so Alex turned and made a beeline for the door.

"Sorry!" he called over his shoulder, grabbing the doorframe and rounding the corner hastily.

"You don't even know why you're apologizing!" Tom shouted after him, hands balled up into fists at his sides. With his classroom door wide open, he could hear the swinging of the staircase exit even before the door slammed shut.

0o0o0o

* * *

Just as Alex was approaching the main floor exit, the doors were pushed open and in walked Jane Beatrix, fixing her red-rimmed glasses with a folder of papers tucked carefully under her arm. When she noticed him walking in her direction she sighed and attempted to dodge him without conversation.

"Ms. Beatrix!" Alex greeted animatedly, stopping to talk even while she breezed past him. He turned and watched her as she continued up the stairs, shooting him an annoyed glance. A pout formed on his lips.

"Hey, wait! Have you thought anymore about what I asked you?"

Alex followed her up the very same staircase he'd just descended less than a minute ago, retracing his steps as he tried and failed to pull her attentions on to him. She kept her eyes trained ahead of her at all times, seemingly impervious to the lines he was throwing at her, and her steps were loud and deliberate, conveying her obvious disinterest in spite of Alex's persistence.

"I really think you'd have a great time… I mean it was fun last time, wasn't it?"

Jane stopped dead at the words. They were standing right outside her classroom door, which was slightly ajar to show the dark shadows of desks and stacked chairs beyond it. Jane reached up and made a grab for his ear, yanking it down so they were at eye-level. Alex gave a yelp, grasping her wrist and looking at her pleadingly.

"Let go!"

"Look. That's in the past, okay. I'm a different person now, a _very_ different person now. And I'd… _appreciate it_ if you didn't mention our… history… to anyone."

"Not even the history teacher?" Her fingers tightened around his ear, drawing another pained warble from Alex and a quick admission of, "What history? I've never seen you before in my life!"

She released his ear and vanished into her dark classroom, followed instantly by an already-recovered Alex.

He peered around upon reaching the middle of the room, eyes sweeping over posters displaying algorithms and formulas above overly-zealous motivational captions. He whistled.

"So what's a former prostitute doing teaching maths at Brookland Comprehensive?"

Jane, who'd taken a seat at her desk and already gone back to ignoring him, slapped a hand down on the desk and barked, "Keep your voice down!"

"Nobody can hear us. I shut the door."

"That's not the point!"

He looked painfully curious, so Jane averted her eyes and shuffled the papers spread over her desk just to give her something to do other than look at him. The folder she'd been carrying now lay open and empty next to them – judging by the red pen poised between her fingers, she was probably stuck marking on a Friday just the same as Tom.

"People change," she muttered when it was apparent that he was waiting for an answer.

"Well sure, but it's not every day that a prostitute becomes a maths teacher. I mean that was last _year_ we slept together; are you trying to tell me you managed to become a teacher in a _year_? Just how old are you, anyway?"

"I should be asking you the same question," she sniffed, "because there's no way in hell that I believe for one second you've been teaching for eight years. First of all, you don't look a day over 25. Second of all, _teachers_ don't spend nights in Amsterdam the way _you _spent_ yours_."

"Sleeping with prostitutes? You might be surprised…"

"We didn't just sleep together, though," she insisted. "I mean don't get me wrong – I've changed – I'm different now–" She seemed to rattle these words off with an automatic mantra-like ease. "But… that wasn't a night I was going to be able to forget. No matter how much alcohol I drank."

"Really? I don't remember a thing."

She rubbed her face, repressing a laugh. "Well, that says something about you, doesn't it?"

"That I'm a total lightweight?"

"That it couldn't have been all that out of the ordinary for you."

He was still standing across the room from her, but something in the conversation was drawing him in closer, step by step. Eventually he was leaning over the desk with both hands poised on the edge, examining the many corrections and explanations she was scribbling into the margins of students' notebooks. Alex's eyebrows rose.

"Wow. You really take your job seriously. Most teachers just switch between checkmarks and X's."

"I like teaching."

"You like _maths_," he corrected, gazing transfixed at the numbers and symbols. Alex was unable to identify them as more than random jottings while Jane's hand moved quickly and fluidly, the undeniable reflection of a very sharp mind.

"It makes sense to me," she explained herself simply. "So I like it."

Alex turned to drag a chair down from off the nearest desk, dropping into it so as to better observe her marking technique. It was the speed she moved at that really impressed him – nobody could possibly contemplate algebra like that unless they were some kind of human calculator. Alex smirked.

"So that's how you became a maths teacher so quickly. You're a genius."

"I have an aptitude for maths," she corrected him irritably.

"Oh my god, I slept with a genius prostitute. That's so cool."

"I wasn't a _prostitute,"_ she hissed, "I was a courtesan."

"This is just like _Good Will Hunting. _Only sexier."

She reached forward to strike him, missing when he shifted to avoid her. "Stop it. Honestly, I don't want to hear about it again. I worked really hard to get here and I won't have you messing it up for me just because _you _can't keep your _monumentally huge mouth_ shut."

Alex leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers atop her desk. "Oh Ms. Beatrix, you haven't got a thing to worry about. My specialty is secrets."

The secretive look he shot her a second later managed to convince her, although Jane wouldn't be able to articulate why if one was to ask her. It was something in his straight posture; perhaps that unshakeable confidence, or maybe just the vague memory she had of him from their one night spent together that assured her nobody would be extracting information from Alex Beckett unless he expressly permitted them to do so. His presence was so different from any other teacher, let alone _assistant teacher_ she'd ever met that it seemed absurd to go along with the idea for a moment longer.

"You're not a teacher," she blurted out. Alex appeared shocked.

"Seriously? Someone really ought to fire me, then."

"Who are you?" she demanded, pausing in her marking in order to scrutinize him closer. Now that she'd accepted the fact it seemed more obvious than ever. From the scars dotting his skin to the sense of commanding he carried, every detail about him screamed _something – _all she could put her finger on was that something wasn't _teacher._

"I really am a teacher, Ms. Beatrix. Maybe not for as long as Ted believes…"

"You're _really_ a teacher?"

Alex held up a hand, nodding solemnly. "Scouts honor."

Her eyes narrowed. She allowed a few seconds of tense silence to stretch between them, inadvertently starting a staring contest.

Alex pointed at her. "You blinked. I win."

"Tell the truth."

"I'm a teacher. Cross my heart and hope to die."

He wasn't _technically_ lying, at any rate. Ms. Beatrix decided to let the matter rest; if she wasn't going to let him pry into her past, then she wasn't about demand he pour his out to her.

Alex seemed to have different views on this.

He hung around her classroom for the next hour and a half, demanding answers from her in an attempt to fill in the gap in his memory that was their night in Amsterdam together. Jane shrugged him off, insistent that they not get into it, so Alex eventually switched agendas and returned to his earlier badgering.

"Mr. Beckett, I'm not going to go on a date with you. This is my place of work and I want it to remain professional."

She continued to mark homework while they spoke, and Alex regularly shifted his gaze away her face and onto her hands. He licked his lips, watching as she generated the complex strings of code like clockwork. Oddly enough, it was sort of turning him on.

"C'mon, that's a load of bollocks. Look, Tom's already called dibs on that secretary, so it's not as though I can…"

"Move on to the next available target? You're _really_ selling your case here…"

When she finished all her work, Alex's only excuse to remain in her presence was up. He offered to buy her dinner. She politely declined. Eventually Alex found himself standing idly in the middle of the hallway, watching her go from outside her classroom door. When she had completely vanished from his sight, Alex spotted the ladybug painted rock on the floor and kicked it in a short-lived show of frustration. It bounced off the closest wall and a second later Tom's classroom door swung open.

"Alex?" Tom said. "I thought you left two hours ago? Hey – did you just kick the ladybug rock?"

"It was pissing me off," Alex grumbled. Tom collected up the rock and placed it back where it had been before, running his fingers over the surface almost protectively.

"Don't mess with the ladybug rock," Tom warned him, shooting him a dark look. Alex ignored it, instead tipping his head back so he was looking at the ceiling. His eyes roamed over the tiny cracks and rough details, pale yellow-gray water stains and chipped trim.

"Alright?" Tom called tentatively.

Alex fixed him with a hopeless look. "Tom. I think I have a thing for geniuses."

Tom's smile was sympathetic.

"I'm doomed, aren't I?"

"Undoubtedly."

0o0o0o

* * *

Wow! I hadn't noticed that this hasn't been updated since _January…_ I'm so sorry! And here I thought shortening the chapters would make me update faster… OTL

Thank you all so much for offering your opinions and letting me know you're enjoying the chapters. I'd really like to reach 100 reviews with this so how about when I do I'll hustle to update and toss my other writing priorities onto the backburner until it's done? Sound like enough incentive to get you guys talking to me? :)

Anyway, I have good news and bad news. The bad news is I lied in the first chapter about this story not ever having a real storyline. The good news is yesterday I spent three hours in the dead of the night storyboarding an actual plot for this thing.

Chapter 5 was a thousand words longer than the other chapters... it _begins_...

(Oh God… and I thought I was in over my head with Life's a Beach…)

**Next chapter**: "Do you have any idea what they do to bullies in jail? Terrible, terrible things…"


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